Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  “Well, then, Teresa, go to her,” said Madame Odenthal, very quietly. “I assure you I have no wish to prevent you; on the contrary, I shall much prefer it. Only I hope you will not forget yourself, and speak disrespectfully to her, for my lord the baron will certainly hear of it, if you do.”

  “Trust me, Madame Odenthal, for knowing how to manage my own affairs,” replied Teresa. “You need not give yourself any trouble about me. If my lady docs go to Vienna, you may depend upon it that I shall go too.... And if I do not, why then you may depend upon it, that I won’t stay half-an-hour in this stupid old castle after she has turned her back upon it.”

  “Perhaps you are right, Teresa, though what you say would have a better effect if your manner were more civil. Nothing would be more easy, you know, than for you to come back after her return, if she wishes to have you; and, to tell you the truth, I would much rather you did not remain here during her absence.”

  Although there was nothing like positive anger in the tone and manner in which this was said, it had so much less of friendliness than was usual in the kind-hearted English-woman’s accustomed mode of addressing the servants, that it really seemed as if she wished to have a little fracas with the vexed and disappointed Teresa.

  For a minute or two, Madame Odenthal, who had risen from her chair, stood beside the door, as if waiting for her; upon which, Teresa, rather fiercely knitting her brows, said, “I don’t want your help, Madame Odenthal.... I suppose my lady and I may speak together, without being watched by you?”

  “I am not quite sure that I think so,” replied the old lady, gravely. “The Baroness Gertrude,” she continued, “has never been exposed to any impertinence from her servants, and I do not wish that she should see such looks, or hear such language from you, as I have now done.”

  “And how will your being present prevent it?” returned the angry Teresa. “Do you think the sight of you will put me in good humour? But I will prove to you at once, Madame Odenthal, that I am not afraid of you, so come along this very present time. The sooner the question is settled, the better.”

  Madame Odenthal said nothing in reply, but proceeded immediately to the room where she had left the baroness, and was followed by Teresa.

  If it was the wish of Gertrude’s maternal friend that this interview should terminate in the final dismissal of the offending waiting-maid (and the very unusual severity of her manner towards her seemed to indicate that such was indeed her wish), the scheme answered perfectly; for the temper of the unlucky soubrette was already so much irritated, that the quiet avowal of Gertrude that she certainly was going to Vienna, but certainly did not intend to be accompanied by her, was more than she could listen to with decorum, and the interview had not lasted long, before she was desired to leave the room.

  The unfortunate young woman stood for a moment with her hand upon the half-open door, as if expecting a recal; but no recal came, and poor Teresa had to announce to the next assemblage of the household in the servants’ hall, that her mistress was going to set off for Vienna without her; and what was, if possible, more extraordinary still, she had given her warning for good, and all for no other reason in the wide world, except that she had not treated old Mother Odenthal as much like an Arch Duchess as she chose to be treated.

  That she, probably, had herself been treated rather more harshly than she really deserved, may be inferred from the fact, that a very handsome gratuity was left for her in the hands of Madame Odenthal, which that kind-hearted person secretly doubled from her own purse, and then presented to her with many kind wishes before she left the house.

  “Well, I won’t deny that the old Englishwoman has a kind heart at bottom,” was the commentary of the ex-waiting maid, when discussing this termination of her service with the household, before taking leave of them; “but one might think she had been a spoiled child, she is so unaccountably whimsical. She does not seem to know her own mind for two days together.”

  CHAPTER LIV.

  No journey could be freer from accidents, or contretemps of any kind, than was that of the Count and Countess Adolphe, and their friend the Baroness Gertrude; and they reached Vienna on the third day after setting off, with as little fatigue, and as much gratification from fine weather and fine country, as reasonable people could desire.

  They found that the Count von Steinfeld had said no more in praise of the agreeable apartments he had secured for them than they well deserved; nor was the addition of Gertrude to the party productive of the least inconvenience; for the Count Steinfeld, like many others, was strongly persuaded, that the English were considerably more difficult to please in all matters of personal accommodation than all the other nations of the earth put together, and had therefore, in choosing apartments for his pretty daughter-in-law, Lucy, so far exceeded what was needful for her, as to provide what was amply sufficient for her, and for her friend likewise.

  Who can enter Vienna for the first time, and not feel a sensation of delight at its aspect! To Adolphe, of course, it was not new, but it was the metropolis of his country, and he was as much delighted by the effect it produced on his fair companions, as if he had himself been looking at it for the first time.

  He was delighted too at all the attentive preparations which had been made for their reception, and not a little pleased likewise, at perceiving that the depression of spirits under which his father had laboured when leaving home, had altogether vanished; for no widowed father of a married son ever looked more young, handsome, and débonnaire, than did the Count Steinfeld, when he came to welcome the travellers on their arrival.

  It speedily became evident that he expected the young party who had joined him to enter with zeal, at least equal to his own, into all the fascinating dissipations of that prettiest of capitals; but in this he was mistaken. The ladies drove about with great perseverance, saw everything, and admired everything; but when Lucy’s gay and handsome young father-in-law began to talk of introductions, presentations, and visitings, which were immediately to take place, and which would be followed, he assured her, by his having the happiness of seeing herself, and her beautiful friend, become the most admired ornaments of the courtly circle to which he meant to have the honour of introducing them, he was startled and astonished by the assurance that they neither of them intended to enter into society at all.

  So astonishing, indeed, did this determination appear to him, that it was some time before they could persuade him that they were really in earnest; and it was only when his son hinted to him, that he was again in hopes of his wife’s presenting him, at no very distant day, with an heir to the family honours and estates, that the juvenile grandfather could be induced to withdraw his opposition to so melancholy a proposal.

  But even after he had made up his mind, as all noble fathers-in-law do upon such occasions, that it was perfectly right and proper the Countess Adolphe should stay at home, and take care of herself, he still expressed his hope of being permitted to introduce some eligible chaperone to the Baroness Gertrude, who might have the honour and happiness of presenting her to the Empress, and to all other ladies of high distinction in Vienna.

  But to this very kind and very proper proposal, the Baroness Gertrude would not listen, assuring Count Steinfeld, that her present visit to the capital was not intended to be one of gaiety, but of friendship; while at the same time, she begged him to believe, that, under other circumstances, she should be most happy to put herself entirely under his guidance.

  “Well then, my fair baroness,” replied the amiable widower, “I will look forward with hope to some future time, when I may meet you here under circumstances more favourable; but, meantime, I fear that you and dear Lucy will find me a very useless personage, for, at present, I cannot command my evening hours, having fallen into such a routine of engagements, as would make my withdrawing myself from society unpleasantly remarkable.”

  This candid avowal was, of course, replied to in a suitable manner; and before they had been many days at Vienna, th
e trio found themselves passing their days very nearly as they might have done, when reciprocally meeting in their respective castles.

  Their mornings, however, had considerably more variety; for not only were there many interesting drives, but there were fine pictures, rich museums, and noble libraries, where they often enjoyed themselves for several hours together, without running the very slightest risk of being interrupted, for these precious repositories are not the most fashionable resorts in Vienna. In fact, the life now led by these much-attached country neighbours, was very much like what it might have been, had they remained at home, at least as far as society Went; for the Countess Adolphe, though well inclined to make light of all evils, whether physical or moral, could not conceal, either from herself or her two watchful companions, “that she was not quite so strong as she used to be.” —

  Had she never known the misery of losing a child, her usually gay spirits would not so easily have deserted her; but, as it was, the companionship of the much stronger-minded Gertrude, and the constant and assiduous attention of her truly devoted husband, were greatly needed, and of the most essential benefit to her.

  Fortunately for them all, the accounts from Schloss Schwanberg were everything that the anxious Gertrude could wish them to be. The baron was in as perfectly good health as his three-score years and ten could possibly permit him to be; Father Alaric, it was evident, was always at his post, both in the chapel and out of it; and as for Madame Odenthal, her pleasant narrative letters were so charming, that their arrival was almost as satisfactory, Adolphe said, as a gallop from Schloss Steinfeld to Schloss Schwanberg could have been.

  In respect to Rupert’s part of the correspondence, it must be confessed, that his dispatches partook so much of the style and character of love letters, that it would be indiscreet, and in very bad taste, to examine them; but, nevertheless, it cannot be doubted that they very successfully fulfilled the purpose for which they were written, for as surely as the post conveyed one of them to the hands of Gertrude, so surely did she exhibit a very visible improvement both in health and spirits.

  It must be confessed also, however, that our very domestic young trio had another source of interest, I will not say amusement, because under the circumstances, it would not be decorous so to describe it; but the facts of the case must be stated, because they eventually became of considerable importance.

  It was Lucy, notwithstanding the languor and low spirits to which she occasionally gave way, who was the first to observe a considerable change in the general appearance and manner of Count Steinfeld: — It has been already stated, that he was a very young father for a married son; but now this incongruity had become very greatly more remarkable. In truth, there would be little or no exaggeration in saying, that the effect produced by his general aspect was such as might have easily led to the belief that he was the younger man of the two.

  Adolphe, though by no means slovenly, was very decidedly careless in his dress. Few hard-reading men are coxcombs in their attire, although they may occasionally be detected in bestowing rather an overweening attention to the attire of their books; but Adolphe was not a coxcomb, even here. He was a genuine hard reader, though scarcely conscious of the fact himself; for he still knew much too little of the general state of his fellow creatures in this particular, to be at all capable of forming a just estimate of himself.

  The daily, or nearly daily, visits of his elaborately attired father, might have gone on for years, without its ever occurring to Adolphe to remark, that his father was one of the youngest, handsomest, and best-dressed men of his acquaintance, had Lucy not pointed out the fact to him.

  On one occasion, when the Count made his paternal visit en route to a dinner-party, the contrast between the father and son struck her so forcibly, that, after he had bestowed his customary salute on her fair cheeks, and departed, she said, with one of her quizzical little smiles, “I almost wonder, Adolphe, that you should like to see your wife kissed by such a very handsome, elegant young man!”

  “Handsome, elegant young man?” repeated Adolphe, looking infinitely puzzled. “Who do you mean, Lucy? Who is it that kisses you?”

  “The person who kisses me, Adolphe — I don’t mean yourself, remember — is by far the handsomest and best-dressed man of my acquaintance,” she replied; “and, moreover, he does me this honour, every time I see him.”

  “You mean my father,” said he, laughing; “and he certainly does look very young and handsome, considering that he is the father of such an uncouth old son as I am.”

  “Why, really, Adolphe, I do think it is very kind of him not to be ashamed of you,” she replied; “ashamed of your looking so exceedingly old, I mean. I really think that he could not have quite given up flying kites and spinning tops, when he married. Depend upon it, my dear, he looks more fit to be a bridegroom now, than he did then. Don’t you think so, Adolphe?”

  “Nonsense, Lucy! A bridegroom? who could have put such stuff into your head? Not Gertrude, I am sure, for she never talks nonsense!” he replied, with a very awful frown.

  “Don’t look so very fiercely angry, husband, or you will make me cry,” returned Lucy. “I won’t say another word about bridegrooms,” she added, in the very meekest accent possible, “if you will only make one innocent little wager with me. Will you bet me a solid, honest, English sovereign (I don’t mean our well-beloved queen, but only one of her beautiful little golden portraits), will you bet me a sovereign, Adolphe, that your father is not a bridegroom before this day six months?”

  Adolphe scolded a little, but he laughed a little too; and at last the bet was made, and moreover, the bet was won by the sharp-sighted Lucy, or rather, the bet was honourably paid, though not accurately won; for Count Steinfeld’s marriage with a pretty young lady some half-dozen years younger than his son, did not take place till six months and seven days after the said bet had been registered in Lucy’s pocket-book.

  CHAPTER LV.

  MEANWHILE the important hour approached, which was so anxiously looked forward to, and which, it was hoped, would repair the heavy loss which poor Lucy, with all her gaiety, had never ceased to deplore.

  It unfortunately happened, that when this anxiously looked-for hour arrived, the Baroness Gertrude was too unwell to bestow on her beloved friend the personal attendance which her heart dictated. Happily, however, there was not much time for regret of any kind, for Lucy presented not only one baby to her delighted husband, but two, a boy and a girl, both strong, both healthy, and both greatly more likely to live than to die.

  Tho contrast between the hours which precede such an event, and those which follow it, is too familiar to all the world to make any description of it necessary; even the gallant and handsome young grandfather, notwithstanding his approaching change of condition, seemed conscious of this, and looked as well pleased and happy as the rest of the party; although Lucy, with her accustomed sauciness, declared that though this handsomest of all her young men acquaintance behaved so admirably well upon the occasion, she could not help fearing that the having to announce two grand-children to his affianced young bride, must have been extremely disagreeable.

  It was not very long after this happy event had taken place, that a letter from Madame Odenthal gently hinted to Gertrude that her father began to be anxious for her return; but the hint was so quietly given, that had not there been a postscript to the letter, it is possible that the receipt of it would not have greatly hastened their movements. The postscript said, “I should be very sorry, dearest Gertrude, that what I have written should hasten the homeward movements of your friends, but should a lengthened stay at Vienna be their purpose, I will make the journey myself, under the protection of the faithful Hans, and I think that between us we shall be able to conduct you home very safely.”

  This (feminine) postscript settled the business at once; neither of the party had, in fact, any great wish to remain longer in Vienna; and Gertrude’s reply to Madame Odenthal assured her that they should meet in a
very few days, without her enduring the trouble and fatigue of a long journey for the purpose.

  Two babies and their two nurses formed, however, an addition to the party of a kind which prevented its being quite as rapid as it might have been without them; and Gertrude, on arriving, found that she had, for the last hour or two, been rather anxiously expected.

  One carriage, containing Lucy and the children, drove to Schloss Steinfeld, the other, with Gertrude and Adolphe as her escort, took the road to Schloss Schwanberg. Their journey had been without contretemps or accident of any kind; but, nevertheless, the heart of poor Gertrude beat so vehemently as, she approached her home, her father, and Rupert, that it was not without considerable effort, and considerable difficulty, that she sustained the appearance of composure.

  On the steps which led up to the principal entrance to the castle, stood Rupert, precisely where he had stood three years before, waiting their arrival on their return from Paris. At the moment that Gertrude first caught a glimpse of him as he thus stood, pale with intensity of emotion, she was herself so nearly overcome by the same cause, that she shook from head to foot-

  But the one quick backward glance which memory took to the moment when she had last seen him standing exactly in the same place and in the same attitude, did more towards reviving her exhausted spirits, than all the volatile essences which ever were applied to the most sensitive nostril.

  The difference between the present and the past rushed upon her memory like a gleam of bright sunshine into a darkened room; and utterly forgetting the fears which had tormented her, lest she should find her aged father changed, or in any degree the worse for her long absence, she uttered the name of “RUPERT” in accents which proved plainly enough that, for the moment, at least, the feeling of very exquisite happiness was predominant.